


The Sharmat's Incarnate

by Zalphon



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls I: Arena, Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls: Legends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-31 05:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalphon/pseuds/Zalphon
Summary: When Antuul Dralosi discovers an ancient artifact of an evil that was destroyed millennia ago, his life is forever altered.





	1. Act I, Part I: Busted

**Act I, Part I: Busted**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

Every Ruins Rat worth his salt knows his haul is just his ante into the games at Ald Uxith, because one man’s haul isn’t worth much but five or six men’s? That’s where you make your money and that’s where I made mine, but something went wrong tonight. There was someone I hadn’t seen before and if I hadn’t gotten so ahead of myself, maybe I’d have picked up that something was off about this rookie. He didn’t carry himself with the swagger they do after their first haul—he had a quiet confidence about him and that was my cue to stay off the Tables tonight, but I didn’t, and now I’m sitting here with nothing but a couple more sips of Quab and a knot in my stomach. That was Sero’s money I lost on the Tables tonight and once he gets word of it, who knows, I’ll probably just be another dead rat. That is unless I go deep, but every rat knows that’s certain death. But hell, do I even have a choice anymore? If I don’t, one of Sero’s thugs are going to jump me and that’ll be it for old Antuul. And if I do? Only the Gods know what’s trapped in those old ruins—I’ve heard stories, but they’re just that—stories. I’ve heard the specters of the old settlers still roam. I hear there’s a goblin army in there. Hell, it could just be actual rats and cobwebs for all I know, but I’ve never seen anyone come back from a Deep Run—it’s like they just—disappear. Arvon, Dorval, Gilyn—all of them had these big plans of the hauls they were going to pull and it wasn’t the kind of junk you pull from the surface that isn’t worth much of anything to anyone—they were going to pull all the old artifacts that the Temple took when the Landfall happened. The kind of stuff that wouldn’t buy you a spot at the Tables—the kind of stuff that’d buy you the whole damn casino or even the whole damn town. But where are they now? Gone? Dead? I don’t know. Nobody knows. They just—disappeared.

But I don’t have much of a choice anymore. Sero wanted his money tonight and I don’t have it and the only way I’ll get it is if I get that damned book for Skriiva. I don’t even know why she wants it. She already makes the Quab west of New Balmora, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Her Quab is her life and that book, that stupid book, is the only hope I have of paying Sero off. 

You know though, I just never saw my life going quite like this. I figured once I got away from Dro’garra, I’d have a real chance at life. I figured I’d make something of myself and now look at me? I’m so scared I’m spilling what’s left of my drink all over myself as I try to take a sip. I just didn’t think it’d go like this. I always figured I’d show everyone back home that I wasn’t just some toy for that dirty old cat, that I was actually a man—a real man! But here I am. Scared. Alone. Trying to compose myself enough to grab my gear and get in there—get into the city itself. 

I should have just stayed off the tables when I saw that newcomer. There was something off about him and I should have picked up on it the moment I saw him, but I got greedy, and now look at me? Now I’m a dead man walking because I got greedy. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! 

I guess it doesn’t matter much now though. What’s done is done and I can’t change that; I just have to make my peace with the fact that I’m probably not coming back after I make this next run. I probably oughta tell Skriiva thanks for always watching out for me, but you know, I don’t want her to see me like this. If I make it back, then I can tell her thanks. If not, I guess it doesn’t matter anyways

Here’s to hoping I sleep well—probably the last one, so I need to make it count.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_


	2. Act I, Part II: The Outer Ruins

**Act I, Part II: The Outer Ruins**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

I never got to see New Vivec before it got sacked, but every rat knows that it used to be something special. People used to come from all over the moon for a chance to make something of themselves here, but now it’s nothing but a series of interconnected tombs for all those who couldn’t get away during the Hundred Days’ War. Some would say it’s unfortunate, but me? I say it’s life. There’s a reason places like New Balmora don’t fall and it’s because they don’t let just anybody in. New Vivec—it was supposed to be this meritocracy where anyone could make something of themselves and that’s what led to the Rebellion which pulled the guards away from the Walls and then—well—that’s history.

I shouldn’t get lost daydreaming though because even out here it’s dangerous. Sure, most of us follow the rules of the Guild, but there’s always renegades and freelancers who are just as quick to put a knife in your back as they are to leave you alone. Fortunately though, I haven’t seen much of anyone so far and who knows, maybe I won’t. That would be nice. A nice easy move through the Outer Ruins and then I’ll just hop into one of the Cantons and hopefully find that damn book. I wish I had a map of this place though, but who keeps maps of the interior of a sacked city? What’s the point—especially when nobody even bothers trying to get inside it anymore? Hell, I shouldn’t even be trying; I’ll probably be a deader the second I crack the seal on one of those doors and then what? Will anybody even care that I’m gone? Will Skriiva even care? 

Probably not, but that doesn’t matter too much anyways. I mean, if I die, it doesn’t matter who cares if I’m dead or not, because I won’t be here to be with them and if I don’t, I guess I’ll still be here and that’s something of a good thing I suppose. I’ll have another day to make another run to pull another haul so I can survive another day. I guess when I put it like that, it doesn’t seem like much of a reward if I pull out of this intact, but that’s all I’ve got and it’ll have to be enough.

I will say though that I am glad to have made it this far. This is deeper than I’ve ever been, like I’m actually inside the walls and it’s kind of beautiful in a melancholy sort of way. The courtyard is littered with the bones of those who fought here all those years ago and it tells a sad story as you walk through it. Some of these skeletons are small. Too small to have been old enough to be any real use in a fight, but they were out here too doing whatever they could to help protect their home and there’s the occasional note I find. I think they’re letters, but, hell, I can’t tell—I can’t read Aldmeris. But judging by the rushed penmanship, I think these were the last words of some of these people. Maybe farewells to loved ones? Maybe a last prayer? I don’t know and it doesn’t much matter, it’s just interesting to look back at these people and think about their lives as I rummage through what’s left of them. 

I should probably quit wasting time writing in this journal though while there’s no one around. No goblins. No specters. No other rats. If I want to crack a seal, now’s the time, so that’s what I’m going to go do. 

Hopefully this isn’t my last entry, but if it is, so be it. I tried my best.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_


	3. Act I, Part III: Inside New Vivec

**Act I, Part III: Inside New Vivec**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

I’m writing this underneath what used to be somebody’s bed as the footsteps get closer. Each one is a heavy thud and the sharp tap of claws against the stone floors of this place. There’s more than one set of footsteps as well and they’re moving in unison—like a march. I think the stories about the Goblin Army might be true after all. I mean, I knew that the city was sacked by goblins but I never would have thought that they’d have stayed. I figured they were just a horde of barbarians looking to plunder, pillage, and rape, but no, these footsteps are too ordered and uniform and I can make out a bit of their conversation as they get closer.

From what I can make out of their mangled Aldmeris, they’re talking about a perimeter breach. I can only assume that means me, but maybe the gods have a sense of humor and some other fool cracked a seal as well and they’re looking for him instead of me. Somehow though, I doubt that’s the case. It doesn’t matter though, once that patrol moves on then I can sneak out and keep looking for that damn book. It really must be something though given Skriiva’s willing to pay off my debt to Sero for it—I’m still not sure if she’s doing that because she really wants this book or if she just doesn’t want to see me get a knife in the back. Either way though, I’m glad she’s in my corner—it’s nice to not have to go through life completely alone. I just wish she and I were more than just—whatever it is we are—business associates, I guess? I wish we had more of a friendship, but she’s not the type to keep friends and why would she be? She owns the biggest and best casino in Ald Uxith—she doesn’t need friends; she can buy them. Still, maybe she does care about me for more than all the money I bring to that casino on the tables through the House’s cut, but I don’t know. It doesn’t much matter right now anyways and I need to get moving—the patrol is gone.

* * *

This isn’t how I thought I’d die, to be honest. When I was a kid, I always figured Dro’garra would beat me to death in one of his drunken rampages and I have always sort of looking over my shoulder for him just in case, but he’s never been there. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think he’d be the one to seal my fate, but nope, I’m here bleeding out in some old shop. What’s the first rule of scavenging? Check for traps. What did I not do? Check for traps. And now I’m laying here with my foot on the ground next to me and a pool of blood that just reinforces what an idiot I am. Ha. But you know what? I’ll bleed out before those goblins get to me, so it could be worse—it could be a lot worse. 

At least I hope I bleed out first—that trap was loud, but I haven’t heard any patrols since so maybe I’m lucky. Maybe this is how the great Antuul Dralosi goes out—bleeding out in some shop that nobody’s been to for centuries. I bet this place really used to be something though judging by the tapestries and whatnot—hell—anything I pulled from this place would probably be enough to get Sero off my back for a while, but it doesn’t matter. None of that matters anymore, because I don’t have much longer. 

Hell, Sero will probably think I skipped town with his money. I mean, I know he thinks I’m an idiot, but everyone knows you can’t run from him. He’ll probably put a bounty on my head bigger than my debt just to let people know what happens when you cross him, but it won’t matter. Nobody will collect that debt, because I’m all the way in here and they’ll all be searching out there. Ha ha ha! Poor, stupid fools. 

Oh, I shouldn’t have laughed so loud—I hear the thuds and the clicking. Damnit. Damnit all. They’re getting closer. Closer. Closer. Whoever finds this journal, be smarter than me and


	4. Act I, Part IV: The Dead God Lives

**Act I, Part IV: The Dead God Lives**

_By Commandant Zaknu, Lord-Commander of the Dagothite Tribe_

So there was truth to Gabrin’s incessant squawking about how the Dead God would return. I find myself appalled to lay eyes on him, but even I can not deny that this wretch that lies before me is indeed everything said he would be. He is small. Puny. Pathetic. But the prophecies did speak of how the Dead God would not return to us a god, but a mortal creature unbecoming of his divine nature. A part of me thinks I should kill him where he lies though before Gabrin spreads word to the others and garners more of a following than he already has, but if this is truly the Dead God returned, then I can’t snuff out his insignificant little life because he’s our only hope. 

Still though. I’m tempted to, because I refuse to let Gabrin’s ramblings take from me everything I have worked towards for who knows how long. He has overstepped his place as it is and with the Dead God here to solidify his prophecy then who knows how long I can maintain my grip on this place and on our people. Gabrin’s not the leader he thinks he is and if he dethrones me, he will only lead us to the death and famine I saved us from when I led the siege to take this city. But if this is truly the Dead God then maybe he can save us—maybe he can spare us the horrors of this world and lead us to a new one as the prophecy says. But I don’t know. I don’t trust it and I don’t trust Gabrin anymore either. He used to know his place in our tribe and ever since he had that vision, he has thought himself greater than he is and I won’t allow him to destroy everything I’ve built for our people. 

Still, if this is the Dead God, maybe he truly will be our salvation. And if he is not, I will cut him down and I will finally have the reason to put Gabrin’s head on a pike. For both of their sakes and for the sake of my tribe, I hope Gabrin is right. 

_-Commandant Zaknu, Lord-Commander of the Dagothite Tribe_


	5. Act I, Part V: Captivity

**Act I, Part V: Captivity**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

I woke up a few hours ago and to my great surprise, my foot had been reattached and healed, but I still feel weak. The one who is watching over me, Gabrin, he calls himself, tells me that he’s been waiting for me for some time. He’s a strange creature—not like the rest of the goblins who have been in and out of my cell. No, he’s different. He’s a hunchbacked runt with a deformed face that looks like it’s been scrunched up and twisted at a strange angle and he’s definitely not with it. His mind is long gone, I can tell that much already given how he rambles about how I’m some prophesied hero of sorts—some ‘dead god’ as it were. I don’t know. I’m scared though. I should’ve never come here and now I don’t know if I’ll ever get out, especially as long as Gabrin and his guards are here watching over me and spilling their praise onto me like a pack of drooling hounds. I don’t know who or what he thinks I am, but he’s mistaken. I’m not some dead god and my name’s not Dagoth—it’s Antuul, but he doesn’t seem to get it. He swears up and down that I spoke to him in a vision hundreds of years ago, but that’s impossible. It’s absurd. But to be honest, I think he’s the only thing keeping me alive at this point. I’ve seen how the other goblins look at me, especially the one they call the Commandant, and it’s not good, but they don’t seem to argue with Gabrin for some reason. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s some kind of priest or something, but either way, I don’t like it. 

To be honest, I’m more scared now than I’ve ever been in my life, even when Dro’garra would come stumbling in after a long night of drinking with that hungry look in his eyes. He was always faster than me—and he was always stronger, I could never get away, no matter how much I struggled, but this is different. I knew back then that once Dro’garra was done with me, he’d just toss me aside like a used rag and that would be that—I don’t know what’s going to happen with these goblins once they find out I’m not this Dagoth guy they think I am. They’ll probably just kill me and eat me, but I don’t know and I don’t want to find out either. I have to get out of here. I have to. But how? How the hell am I going to get out of here when I’m locked in a cell with two of their guards watching me at all times. I don’t know if there’s any escape to be honest, but I know if something doesn’t change fast then I’ll probably be dead in a few days. I guess I could try to play Gabrin, but I don’t know how successful that’ll be. He’s clearly mad, but he’s not stupid, I know that much already. Hell, he might even be smarter than me, not that that’s saying much, but it does mean I have to really plan this out if I’m going to try to pull a fast one on him. I’m scared though that he’ll see right through me and then what? He’ll probably let the Commandant run me through if he figures out I’m trying to pull a ruse on him, but that’s a risk I have to take, isn’t it? If I don’t try, I’m gonna die for sure and if I do, maybe, just maybe he’ll trust me enough to let me out and I can make a run for it. Who knows though, this could be it for me. I had a good run though—I did more than anyone thought I would with my life and I guess if I die in here with all these monsters then that’s okay, I guess. 

I just wish things could’ve gone a little differently with my life, I suppose. I wish my mother hadn’t sold me to Dro’garra for a couple ounces of sugar. I wish I hadn’t have stuck around with that bastard as long as I did and you know, most of all, I wish I didn’t get involved in that incident that night. If I’d have just left things alone and kept playing the tables, I’d have never gotten into trouble with Sero, but you know me, always trying to be the big damn hero and now look at where I am. I’m locked in a cage with an insane goblin as my only hope of getting out and getting home, and then what, I still don’t have Sero’s money and he’s not going to give me more time. Hell, the only reason he didn’t outright kill me when I stabbed one of his men is because he knows I bring a lot of money into Ald Uxith, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be patient forever—in fact—he’s probably already got a bounty posted all over town with my name on it.

It doesn’t matter though. That’s too far in the future to worry about right now; I need to think about how I’m going to get out of here and fortunately, I can already hear Gabrin’s labored breathing as he’s coming back down the stairs from his talk with the Commandant. Here’s to hoping this works—if not, I played my hand the best I could. It wasn’t great, but it was the best I could do with what I had and that’s all we can do, right?

_-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_


	6. Act I, Part VI: The Desecrated Temple

**Act I, Part VI: The Desecrated Temple**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

Gabrin has started to trust over me over the past few weeks, but he thinks I am blind to the political stirrings in his tribe. Some call me a false incarnate, while others believe I am the chosen one who is somehow supposed to bring them into an era of prosperity unlike any other and as the days go on, the discussions more heated. More virulent. I can already see the tribe is beginning to fall apart because I came here and maybe that’s my key to getting out of here, but I don’t know yet. There’s still too many moving parts for me to plan my escape just yet, but Gabrin has moved me from my cell and into the Temple. I wish he hadn’t. I really wish he had moved me anywhere else.

This temple—it is sick. It is profane. It is—evil. This place was once a place of worship and of love for the Ancestor Daedra and now what is it? It is monolithic shrine to some dead god? To some failed being? To me? It can’t be. Whatever it is these monsters worship, it’s not me—it can’t be. I refuse to accept it. There’s no way I can be an incarnation of something that would allow—this—to exist. 

The stench of rot emanates from this place, but it is not the stench of any rot—no—it’s not that simple. It’s more complex than just simple rotting meat. It’s so much more. It’s like a bouquet of flesh rotting in a tropical jungle mixed with the stench of a wound that refuses to heal as it festers with pus and illness. And more than the stench is the pained moans that echo up from below. So deep and guttural, so miserable. There is no pause to them, no stop, only an endless sea of crying out from the dark below and I wish I could put a stop to it—to their pain, but I can’t. I can’t stop anything here. I wish I could though. I wish I could stop their pain for even just a moment, but I can’t. I can’t save them—I don’t even know if I can save myself, but maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to get help for them if I can get out of here. It’s a long shot, but if I get out of here—I’ll make sure to get help for them. I’ll make no sure nobody else ever suffers under these abominations again. I can only imagine what these monsters are doing to those poor people on the levels below, but I’ll get them help. I promise.

Damn. I hear Gabrin’s breathing and the thud of his walking stick—I better hide my journal until he’s gone.

* * *

I’m finally back and I just want to close my eyes, but every time I do, I see them. I see their twisted bodies, their deformed faces, the mounds of tumorous flesh growing all over them. He said they’re the unworthy. They are the ones who rejected me and that’s why they’re down there shambling about with bones that broke under the weight of all those tumor—and he says it’s because I found them unworthy? I wouldn’t unleash this upon anyone. I can’t even imagine what kind of monster would do this, but Gabrin just smiled as he looked over them all—a sadistic smile—the rotten little bastard he is. He loved looking at them, like this was all just some kind of joke to him. It was almost funny to him. But it wasn’t funny to me. Those people—their lives are a living hell, I could see it as they crawled about weeping tears of thick mucus as they trailed the floors of the lower levels. I can only ask myself what kind of hell is this place? What kind of sick, twisted monster is that little runt? I don’t know, but I have to get out of here—that much—that much I know for sure. I know that more than I know anything else right now. I have to escape. I can’t let Gabrin turn me into one of those things and I’d almost rather take my chances making a run for it than stay here for another minute longer, but I’ve gotta think this through. Now more than ever, I need to think clearly.

Or you know, maybe now more than ever, I need to just go for it. I’ve always just done my best with what I had and it got me this far—maybe I just need to trust myself and just go. If I get caught, they won’t kill me—they won’t kill their god. Maybe the ones who don’t believe I’m their god will, but dying can’t be worse than what happened to those people down there. It can’t be. Nothing can be worse than that. 

I’ve got one lockpick and I better make it count, but before I make my run for it, there’s something I need to write in here in case I don’t make it. 

If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter if I did or not because you found this and that’s the most important thing of all, so do a dead man one last favor—it’s all I ask. Get help. Don’t just shrug off this journal and think it’s nothing but a story, this is important—this might be the most important thing anyone ever asks of you—get help. If these things—these goblins—ever get out of here and start moving east, I don’t know how many will get ripped apart in the streets, but it will be far too many and those will be the lucky ones. The ones who aren’t? They’ll end up like the things Gabrin showed me, so get help. Please. Just get help if you find this journal. I beg of you. Please. Get help.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_


	7. Act I, Part VII: Betrayal

Act I, Part VII: Betrayal

By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger

I’m writing this as I’m once again beneath a bed and I can hear the chaotic thuds of a thousand boots hitting the ground out of sync. They’re looking for me and rightfully so—I killed him. I’ve never killed anyone before, but I killed him. I don’t know why; I didn’t have to, I could’ve snuck past him, but I did it. It wasn’t some act of bravado or courage. He was a wretched little thing and snapping his neck was like snapping a twig and I wish I felt guilty, but I don’t. The way he looked at them, the way he called them unworthy—the way he seemed to enjoy pushing his way around them as they dragged themselves looking for anyway out of the bleak hell that had become their existence. Gabrin needed to die and I’d kill him again if I had the chance, but who knows, maybe killing him is why I’ll die here tonight—it doesn’t matter though—if nothing else, I finally did something with my life that’s worth being proud of. I killed a monster. 

It’s funny. For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid—I’m not afraid of these goblins getting me, I’m not afraid of Sero, I’m not afraid of anything really—I just am. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been so scared of dying for so long that it’s just numb now or maybe it’s the fact that I killed him—I don’t know. I don’t think it matters, but if I get out of here, I’ve got proof of what’s down here. I’ve got the idol that little gremlin always had dangling off his belt and it’s so interesting to touch—it’s hard, but it has a slippery surface about it like ash and though the exterior is cold, you can feel a warmth emanating from inside of it. It’s faint, but it’s there, just like that soft melody coming from it. They both feel so far away but I can feel them all the same—whatever this thing is—I don’t trust it. I don’t like it. But I can’t deny that there’s something about it take piques my curiosity more than it should. I’ve spent the last few hours just brushing my fingers over it, every curve and indent and familiarizing myself with its pristine sculpting. Not a single nick, a single scratch, it’s just—interesting how fine this thing has been preserved and the craftsmanship behind it. Just interesting. 

Even though I find myself compulsively touching the idol and playing with it in some form or another, I can’t deny there’s something wrong with it. Something very wrong. But this is just what I need to show to them what’s down here, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t think I don’t have a chance of getting to New Balmora without getting jumped by Sero’s men. I’ll have to figure out something with Skriiva even though I don’t have that damned book. I feel bad—I know she wanted it—but damn—things have gone straight to hell down here. I never imagined things would be this bad, but they really are. It’s funny though—this all started because of some damn book on growing mushrooms so Skriiva could get better shrooms to make better Quab. Ha. Funny how things change so quick. I knew this was a suicide mission from the get go, but I didn’t imagine it’d run like this. Oh well, I don’t hear footsteps so I better start moving.

* * *

My head hurts and I can barely see, but I’m doing my best to write this in the dark. I can smell dried blood and I can feel it on my face—something got me. Something got me good and I don’t know if I made it out or what, the last thing I remember was coming out a door and then just everything going black. It’s like somebody blew out all the candles at once, because one second I was there and then—I wasn’t—and now I’m here—wherever here is. I don’t hear the patrols though so maybe it wasn’t them, but I’ve still got a collar around my neck and a thick chain attached to the ground. At least I can write while I wait for whoever—or whatever—got me to come check up on me.

It’s cold here though, not like New Vivec. New Vivec was warm and humid—this place—it’s got a certain chill to it that penetrates to the bones and I don’t like it. I don’t lik—the idol’s missing. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit! Did they take it from my bag? Did it get dropped? Damnit, where the hell is that idol? I need it. I have to get it to New Balmora or else the Council will never believe me about what’s going on down here, but it’s gone. Damnit!

Someone’s coming. I better put this down and be ready to defend myself, as best I can with this big steel collar around my neck.

* * *

I can’t believe she did me like this, but she did. She set me up and played me better than I’ve ever played on any damn table in my life and now I’m right here in Sero’s hands. I hope it was worth it, Skriiva. I hope that damned book was worth it—you sold me out after all the damn money I’ve brought your way? I could’ve gone anywhere, but I always came to you because I thought somewhere under there you saw me as more than another Ruins Rat, but no—you set me up. You set me up so that Sero’d give you that damn book that you knew wasn’t even here; you just wanted to make it easy for his goons to pick me up and you did, you definitely did, you definitely did, and if I get the chance, I’ll make a cloak out of you. I promise you. If I get out of here, I will find you, and I’ll wear your hide like a damned trophy for the rest of my days! I mean it, Skriiva! I’m coming for you!

As for Sero, this was never supposed to go like this. This has ruined everything; I was supposed to be on my way to New Balmora, but now I’m stuck here like a rat in a cage while that bastard decides what to do with me. He’s debating whether he’s going to kill me or sell me off to the Salt Mines. Damnit! I don’t know what I’m going to do—I need a plan, think Antuul, think. How are you going to get out of this? What are you going to do? What’s the plan, damnit, think!

I don’t know. 

I can’t think straight.

My mind’s all wrapped up in those things below the Temple in New Vivec and the goblins and just—all of it. I can’t think straight. I need to sleep, maybe that’ll help me clear my head. I hope so anyways. I really hope so. I just hope he doesn’t end me in my sleep, but knowing Sero, he’s not going to make it so easy for me. No. He’ll want me to be awake. He’ll want to hear my screams as he takes his pound of flesh and many more to follow it. I hope I think of something tomorrow—I really do.

-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger


	8. Act I, Part VIII: Sero's Game

**Act I, Part VIII: Sero’s Game**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

You never understand how much power a man like Sero has until it’s too late. Sure, I knew of him. Every rat knew of Sero, but few of us had ever actually met him and that was often deemed a good thing, because nobody wanted to end up on his bad side. Before all this, I had always figured if I got on his bad side, he’d just have one of his guys just pull me into an alley and put a knife in my back and that’d be that, but that’s not who he is. No. I was wrong about him. I thought he was a professional above all else given that’s how everyone always talked about him in the hushed tones we did, but he’s not a professional. He’s an animal. What kind of man gathers all of his political rivals and people who have wronged him into cages so they can kill each other for his entertainment? What kind of sick, twisted bastard does that? 

Sero. Sero does that and now I’m just sitting here waiting for my match against someone whose name I don’t know and who knows their only hope of getting out of here alive is through killing me. I had heard of games like these happening all over the World Before, but I had never actually seen one—much less participated. But I don’t have a choice. I have to get to New Balmora and my only hope of getting there is if I can get out of here and that’s assuming the victor goes free, which I doubt. Sero’s probably looking for muscle and that’s why he’s got us doing this otherwise he would’ve already sold or killed us off. But he didn’t so that has to be what it is—it’s the only thing that makes sense.

I hear Sero talking. He’s congratulating the victor and giving a sarcastic lament to the deceased, “Oh a tragedy of the highest order to see such a sweet girl die so young, but, that sugar-nose of hers was always trouble. If only she had gotten a handle on it before it overtook her finances. How absolutely tragic.” Fetcher. Here he is, making us fight and kill each other and this is how he reacts? He gives biting sendoffs to the fallen? I suppose it just goes to show that Dro’garra wasn’t wrong when he said that it didn’t matter how far I ran, I’d always find monsters just as bad as him. I thought it was a lie; I hoped it was a lie, but it wasn’t. There’s monsters everywhere you look: Skriiva, Gabrin, Sero—who knows how many other monsters I’ve met and haven’t realized it yet. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll get through this and it doesn’t matter how many monsters are in my way, I’ll get to New Balmora and the Council will stop the Dagothites from ever escaping New Vivec. At least I hope so. I really really do.

I hear Sero again and he said my name. My fight must be coming up and to be honest, I’m not ready for it, but I hear the jailor’s keychain as he begins his descent down here to pull me from my cage. I killed for the first time yesterday and it was someone who needed to die, but this time, this is different. This is an act of murder against someone I don’t know, because it’s kill or be killed in this pit. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself after this, but I don’t have a choice but to go forward. Do or die, Antuul. Do or die.

* * *

My body is covered in cuts, bruises, and blood, but I’m alive. I should’ve died a hundred times over today, but I’m alive. I’m somehow alive because something came over me in those fights and it all started with the Khajiit. I can’t describe what it felt like—it was just—an out of body experience almost. Something came over me and things just—happened. I heard the idol though and this time I didn’t hear it across an ocean—it was blasting in my ears to the point where I couldn’t hear anything and that warmth I felt from it—it engulfed me in what felt like my entire body was in a state of constant incineration. Everything hurt. It hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt before and I couldn’t see through it, but somehow, my body just acted. I don’t know how or what made my body do what it did, but as the pain subsided and the deafening melody came to fade, I saw the Khajiit who had been choking the life out of me dead on the ground. But his injuries, they weren’t normal. His face was unrecognizable and his skull concaved in, but there was more to it than that—his fur had been singed by the battery and I couldn’t explain it and neither could the spectators who stared at me in a mix of reactions: Awe, Amusement, Horror, Laughter. They didn’t know what to think and neither did I—I still don’t and I doubt they do either, but Sero, Sero knew exactly what to think.

“So the Rat managed to kill the Cat, truly, I am impressed. Send the next fighter. I want to see how long this Rat can go.”

He sent them at me one by one with hopes I’d eventually fall, but every time I got close, it happened again and I emerged the victor with enough time to catch my breath and spit out the blood and teeth I had lost. I’d look up at him after every round and his sarcasm began to melt away leaving only a tone of concern that I actually was going to win this thing. And when I did, he told me I was dead anyways—I wasn’t meant to win this little game of his. No, that honor was reserved for someone else—I couldn’t tell amidst the bodies, there were too many to really pay much attention—but he was infuriated that I had won and more than that, he was scared. I could tell by him calling his goons to finish the job the other contestants had clearly failed to and when they couldn’t, he and the spectators left. I could’ve gone after him and maybe I should have, but I didn’t. I climbed my way out of that pit on a mound of bodies he had sent to kill me and waiting for me as I emerged from it was the Idol. It hadn’t been there before and Sero hadn’t left it, but it was there waiting for me all the same even if just moments before, it hadn’t been. 

I’m writing this as I sit here by the warmth of the campfire off the road to New Balmora. It’s a few days away and here’s to hoping the rest of the journey goes smooth. I just don’t want to hurt anyone else. 

I’m tired of hurting people.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_


	9. Act I, Part IX: Home

**Act I, Part IX: Home**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

If one were to describe New Balmora in a single word, the only one appropriate for the task would be: Aged. The streets widen and narrow without seeming rhyme or reason to those who haven’t watched this city explode since I was a kid, but there was once an order to this place—it’s just long gone now. It’s only been ten years since I got out of here and so much has changed. The streets I used to pull my biggest hauls from are all worn down and decrepit, my hangouts are gone, even the sound of the city is different. We used to say that the difference between a native and a foreigner here was whether they could hear it—whether they could hear the way the city seemed to talk, not in words, but in the rhythms. The patterns. The subtle you never really pay attention to you, but you seem to notice anyway. The city doesn’t talk like it used to—doesn’t talk at all like it used to. It just—exists. An empty shell of itself and I saw that with my first steps in here when I saw a woman’s coins being lifted by a pickpocket. She screamed and everybody in earshot went running for the kid and they beat him—bad. Real bad. He was still twitching in a puddle of his own blood as I stepped over him. Things weren’t like that when I was a kid. Everyone knew what Dro’garra did to us and what he made us do and when they caught our hands in their pockets, they swatted us off most of the time, but that was it. Sometimes they’d even give us a bit out of pity, but this—this would’ve never happened back when I was a kid and not because Dro’garra cared about our welfare, but people cared about us—if only for that one interaction with us. That kid? Nobody cared about him. Nobody ever will again either given they’ll likely be scooping him into a furnace before nightfall given you don’t survive a beating like that. The city’s changed and not for the better.

Still though, as much as it’s changed, some things haven’t. Dro’garra hasn’t. I made a trip down memory lane and I saw that manor of his with all manner of orphans running around it. The only thing they had in common was that none of them were much more than skin and bone and most of them had eyes that had seen too much too young. Still though, it was nice to see that a few of them had made it this far without being broken and things weren’t all bad—I saw one of the kids who had just been picked up just before the time I was leaving. I remember telling my friend, Shakes, that I didn’t think the kid would make it a week before he roped himself, but sure enough, he’s still there. He doesn’t remember me, but I could never forget that dumb look he always had on his face (and still does). It’s good to see I was wrong about him. It’s really good.

I had one last thing I needed to do before I made my way here to Council District and that was checking on an old friend of mine, Bravora. She grew up in a totally different world than I did. Redoran Councilor’s daughter and here I was, a Khajiiti Boy, but somehow, we were friends. It’s funny too, because the first time we met, I was cutting her purse strings and she caught me in the act. All she had to do was make a sound and who knows what would’ve happened, but she just stood there in silence as she watched me pull back the knife that was too dull to cut through the netch-leather strap and smiled at me. It was a kind smile. The kind that I hadn’t really ever seen before and she motioned for me to follow her. Every instinct told me it was a trap. She was setting me up and I knew it, but it’s the one time my instincts have been wrong—or maybe they were right and it was just a different kind of trap than I expected. We talked for a while, I don’t know how long it was, but it was long enough I didn’t have enough time to get my haul for Dro’garra that day before curfew and my nose has been crooked since, but it was worth it. For—however long it was—I wasn’t a Khajiiti Boy—I was the boy this girl who had no business talking to me, wanted to talk to. It was a good day. One of the best in my life in fact, right up there with all the other days we spent together, even if all those days came with bumps, bruises, and scratches at the end. No matter how mad I knew he’d be, spending time with her was always worth it. 

I just wish we had spent more time together when we had the chance. She’s gone now. According to her little sister who never much liked me, but never ratted on us talking, it happened two years ago. She caught something the priests, the physicians, none of them had ever seen before and she just—didn’t get better. They did everything they could for her, but she just—didn’t make it. It’s funny how that kind of thing happens. She was the only person to ever see me as more than just a Khajiiti Boy or a Ruins Rat or a piece of trash my entire life and I never got the chance to say bye. I never got the chance to tell her I loved her. I never got to tell her a lot of things I should’ve when we were kids—I just always thought that when I came back, she’d still be here. I knew she’d get married to some other noble and that she probably would’ve forgotten all about me by time I finally came back, but her sister, her sister says she was waiting for me. She refused the suitors who knocked down her door because she was waiting for her friend to come back. She waited almost a decade for me to come back and I never did. She spent the rest of her life waiting for me and I never thought so much as to write a letter to her. But she didn’t care. She still waited for someone who didn’t deserve her—as a lover or a friend. And now she’s gone and I just wish I could’ve been there with her through it. I wish I could’ve talked to her one last time and told her all the things she should’ve heard before I left, but—life doesn’t always work out the way it should. If it did, she’d still be here. She deserved to be here a lot more than I ever did and now she’s gone.

Maybe that’s why the city doesn’t sound right anymore; it lost its light. I just wish it could’ve been me instead, but I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? I guess none of what I should’ve said or what I should’ve done matters anymore, because the past is the past and she’s gone. No matter how much I wish she wasn’t. I guess this means I just have to accept it, but that’s going to take more than a couple shots of Sujamma. But I’ll deal with that in a little bit, my appointment with the Council is in a few minutes and I should probably compose myself. I wouldn’t want to go before them, her father included, looking like this, so I’ll have to stop here for now. But I do need to say one last thing before I close this entry.

Bravora, I loved you since the day I met you. I loved you since the moment you didn’t scream or shriek or anything, you just smiled at me with that smile your father made you practice all the time and I loved you a little more every day since. And I should’ve come back for you, but things got out of hand and I always thought I had more time and—I just—I’m sorry for not coming back. I’m sorry for not writing. I’m sorry for leaving you waiting for so long—I just—I was scared to come back. I was so damn scared, Bravora, I can’t explain it to you, because I just—I’m just not smart enough to put it into words, but if I’d have known—if I had one inkling of an idea that this was going to happen—things would’ve been different. Things would have been so different. I’m so sorry and I hope wherever you are, you know that. You know I’d do anything to make this right, but I can’t. 

I’m so sorry, Bravora.

Please, wherever you are, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.

_-Antuul Dralosi, the Friend Who Never Came Back_


	10. Act I, Part X: Judgments of the Council

**Act I, Part X: Judgments of the Council**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

There is a certain sense of awe that overcame me as I stepped foot into the Council Chambers. Great tapestries hung from the walls and the Council sat in seats high above me in alcove balconies all around the dome-shaped room and I could not help but feel a sense of gravity as I stepped into the center of room. That coupled with the penetrating coming from each of the councilors made it that much worse, but the tone grew ever darker as I told my story of what I had seen and witnessed in the bowels of New Vivec. There was a heavy silence between the Councilors as I spoke, but it was eventually broken by one of the councilors—a Dunmer well past his prime with greying red hair. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was Bravora’s father. He had parted with his signature goatee some time ago, but it was him indeed.

“You can not honestly expect us to believe these—these stories you’re telling us, do you? Goblins worshiping some creature named Dagoth Ur? And more than that, that you’re their god or whatever it is reincarnated? You told the steward that you had urgent news of a grave threat and this is what you bring to us? Some fabricated stories to get attention? You are despicable and I want you to leave these chambers immediately before I have you arrested.”

If I were a smarter man, I would’ve left at that moment, but of all the things I’ve been accused of—being smart isn’t one of them. So, I stood my ground and I argued with him, and I don’t know why I did. They weren’t going to listen to me. They were never going to listen and if I had just accepted that, maybe I wouldn’t be here sitting in a jail cell right now, but here I am. It’s just sort of funny. My whole life, I’ve been nothing more than the dung stuck to someone’s boot, and you know—that’s always been okay. I never got mad about it—it was just the hand I got dealt, just like that hand I got dealt that busted me a few weeks ago. It’s just life. But you know, the one time I try to do something right—try to be more than just the urchin I grew up as—I end up in a jail cell. It’s funny how life works like that. You just—never expect things to play out how they do.

The guard’s walking here. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but I’m put the journal down for a minute—I don’t want to make him mad.

* * *

I had a visitor and it was Bravora’s father. He confessed to me in the confines of my cell that he knew I was telling the truth, but he couldn’t risk having the truth exposed—even to the other councilors. He was at New Vivec when it was sacked by the Dagothites and he knew why they came because before he joined House Redoran, he was a scholar of our people’s history. Though the texts were sparse, he studied the history of our people and he knew of the Sixth House as he called it. He knew of what they were anyway and how they worshiped a mad god who called himself Dagoth Ur and he told me that while few have ever heard of the Sixth House, its very mention can not be allowed in society. We can’t risk division in our ranks, not when so few escaped from our home during the Landfall, and that is why he has chosen to have me executed—because I know too much. I know things he doesn’t want me to know. Things he doesn’t trust me to know.

When day breaks tomorrow, I will be marched forth to the Gallows and hanged for the crime of High Treason. He knows it’s not true. I know it’s not true. But I will hang from the Gallows for a crime I did not commit, because I tried to do the right thing. I tried to be a good person and I will die for it.

A part of me wants to cry. It seems like an appropriate response to a situation that’s twisted in every sense of the word. I don’t deserve to die; the only crime I’ve committed today was trying to save those creatures beneath the Temple, but here I am, accused of High Treason. But, as much as I want to cry at the finality of the situation and how this is how it’s going to end, I can’t help but laugh. And laugh. And laugh. It’s just so funny. My entire life, I’ve been a failure and a ne’er-do-well and I’ve always stolen, cheated, and lied to get by, but the one time, the one time I decide to do something right, I’m going to be hanged for it. It’s hilarious. My entire life has been one big long joke and this is the punchline. Hahaha! 

The guard is yelling at me to keep it down, but what’s he going to do? Kill me if I don’t? Hahaha! Well Bravora, here’s to you. I finally tried to be the man you always saw in me and they’re going to hang me for it! Hahaha! What a joke! Hahaha! What an absolute joke! I can’t stop laughing at this—it’s just—so absurd. It’s so damned absurd it’s funny! 

Well, I better calm down or maybe they’ll take away my supper. What a tragedy that would be—why I’d have to face the Gallows on an empty stomach. Ha. Oh well, I suppose I don’t have much more to say at this point anyways. I suppose I should compose a letter of some sort, a farewell if you will, but I’ll do that in the morning. I doubt I’ll sleep much anyways.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Dead Man Walking_


	11. Act I, Part XI: A Letter to Commandant Zaknu

**Act I, Part XI: A Letter to Commandant Zaknu**

_By Valen Vedrano, Councilor of House Redoran_

Zaknu,

You have failed me time and time again and yet, every time, I’ve overlooked it or dismissed it as being a simple lapse in judgment. You see, I always gave you the benefit of the doubt because it doesn’t feel so long ago that I found your tribe on the cusp of extinction. Do you remember those days, Zaknu? The days when you all were starving to death and were being slowly picked off by the Spiders? I do. I remember those days like they were just yesterday and I remember the pathetic little runt you were, malnourished and begging for just a crumb of my bread when I stumbled upon your miserable lot. You were nothing and your tribe was nothing when I found you all, but I gave you all a new life—a new purpose—and this is how you repay me? You repay me by allowing some rat to come into my city, to come before the council I sit on, and tell them all about the things I showed you and taught you? Tell me, Zaknu, why? Why would you allow this to happen? Why?

Make no mistake, I have already resolved the issue of this squealing rat, but that still leaves the issue of how I am to handle your repeated, incessant failures. I just don’t understand it—I simply lack the comprehension necessary to understand how someone can squander all that I’ve given them when I have given so much. There was a reason that I killed the Chieftain and put you in his place. There was a reason I poisoned the guards’ rations so that you all would have no challenge in sacking the city. There was a reason I have done these things and that was not for you to allow some squealing little rat to expose everything I’ve worked towards for centuries, so tell me, Zaknu, how should I resolve the issue of you jeopardizing everything I’ve dedicated my life towards?

My ancestors were betrayed at the Red Mountain, Zaknu. They were betrayed by the False Gods my people flocked to as they cast down our leader and finally, finally I am so close to restoring my true house to its proper place, and you piss on everything I’ve worked towards. A part of me doesn’t want to be angry at you though; you can’t possibly understand what it is I have lost. I lost my homeland before I was born in the Landfall. I lost my birthright countless millennia ago at the Red Mountain. And now, Zaknu, I have lost my trust in you which pains me more than anything. So, I will meet you in the Fallen City and we will discuss our next steps moving forward and if there will be next steps, but first, I must watch the rat hang and then I’ll make haste to meet with you.

Think wisely on what you’ll say at our meeting, Zaknu; it would be a tragedy if your tongue got ahead of you this time, as it so often does.

_-V_


	12. Act I, Part XII: Final Farewells

**Act I, Part XII: Final Farewells**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Scavenger_

I think I’ve got an hour or so before the guard comes to drag me out to the Gallows and you know, I’ve had my time to make my peace with the fact that this is it. This is how I’m really going to die. I’ve had so many brushes with death before that they all started to feel kind of numb, but this is different. It’s not numb. I feel—scared? Sad? Angry? I feel a lot of things and it’s kind of confusing trying to sort through it all, but it’s not going to matter in too long anyways, so I guess I shouldn’t pay these feelings too much mind. But I did say I would write my farewells and I do intend to do that even if it’s the last thing I do and you know—I just hope that whoever cleans up this cell does me the small favor of delivering my farewells to all the people I have them to. They probably won’t, but I can hope—even if I know it won’t happen. That’s the thing about life, you’re always hoping for something and it almost never happens. My mother never came back for me when she sold me off. I never got to see Bravora again when I finally came back. I never did make something of myself like I always said I would to the old gang. But that’s okay. All of these things are okay. Everything will be okay. 

So, I don’t really know where to start this, so I guess I’ll just go in order of importance I guess and I’ll save the best for last. That’s probably a good idea.

To my mother, wherever you are, I hope you’re well. I barely knew you, but I hope that you eventually kicked your habit and found yourself a nice man like you used to talk about. You know the one. The one who was going to change everything for us. Wherever you are, Mom, I hope you’re okay.

To Skriiva, I promised you that I’d kill you for betraying me to Sero and you know, a part of me wishes I still had the chance, but I think a bigger part of me doesn’t want to anymore. I was angry. I felt betrayed, to be honest; I sort of looked at you as the mother figure I didn’t really have growing up and that was my fault. At the end of the day, even though you were always nice to me before that thing with Sero went down, it was always about business and I was the one who forgot that. So I hope you’re doing okay. I hope your casino is still popping and I hope the other rats pull good hauls so you can take your cut at the Tables. Good luck, Skriiva. I’ll always miss you, even if you did try to get me killed.

To Sero, I don’t know what to say to you. You put a bounty on my head because your men got out of hand with one of Skriiva’s waitresses and I got in the middle of it. It wasn’t personal. I never intended to cause you problems, but you didn’t see how your men were acting with that girl. They had her cornered and wouldn’t back off; she was so scared, Sero. So damn scared. And you know, maybe it wasn’t my place to get involved, but she didn’t know what to do and everyone knew they were your people so nobody wanted to get in the middle of it either, but—I don’t know, Sero, I just wasn’t going to stand by and watch someone else go through what I have. Hopefully you can forgive me for that, and for all that stuff that went down your little ‘arena’ as you called it. If not, that’s okay—I don’t much mind.

To Councilor Vedrano, I understand why you’re doing this and I’m not mad. You’re afraid I’m going to stir up things that are better left forgotten and you don’t want panic to spread. It’s completely understandable from your position to do what you’re doing. I don’t like it, but I understand it. That said, there is a confession I need to make to you. I loved your daughter more than anyone I had ever met in my life—Bravora was—my everything at one point—and I abandoned her. So I owe you an apology, Councilor; I was the one she was waiting for who never came back and I hope that knowing this eases any guilt you feel over what’s coming for me. I just want to say thank you though, because I imagine you already knew that, but you never let it on. You could’ve had me locked up years ago on some equally trumped up charges just for talking to your daughter, but you didn’t, and more than that, you let her spend time with me even though I was nothing but a thief, so thank you, Councilor. I know you’re the one signing away my life, but I feel I owe you more than I could ever repay because your daughter—she’s the one who made it worth living in the first place. Thank you for letting her be a part of my life and please know that I’ll cherish her memory in this life and the next and every one to follow. Thank you.

To Dro’garra, I spent my childhood and adolescence about how I’d kill you and I want to tell you that my biggest regret about coming back besides not coming back sooner, is that I didn’t follow through on that. I should have slit your throat in your sleep years ago, but I was always so afraid. I was always afraid of what could’ve gone wrong and what you’d do to me if I failed, but that’s the thing, you took a scared little boy and you broke him into a thousand pieces and then you ground those pieces to dust. I should’ve killed you then and I regret not killing you when I stood outside that manor. Those boys deserve better. We all deserved better. And know this Dro’garra, my spirit will find you and I will torment until moon becomes dust and all becomes not. You are a blemish upon this moon and a blight upon all who have ever crossed your path and though I face the Gallows in less than an hour’s time, know that I will come for you in the next life and I will do what I failed to do in this one. I swear it upon all three of the Reclamations; I will be your undoing, Dro’garra. I swear it.

And finally, to you, Bravora. There’s so many words I want to say—so many things I should say, but I don’t know how to—I suppose it would be best to just let my heart talk, but even it falls silent at the thought of what to tell you. I love you, Bravora. You were the only person who ever saw anything in me and the only person who ever really understood me. Shakes and the gang, we were close, but what you and I had was different. It was special and I hope wherever you are, you know that. I hope you know that I never stopped loving you even if I didn’t show it like I should’ve. You were always the light to my life and my reason for being and I’ll die on the Gallows, my heart will forever beat for you. I just wish I could hold you one last time and brush my hands through your hair and just smell that god-awful bug musk you used to love one last time. You were the best thing to ever happen to me and I abandoned you; I just hope you know that I’ll never stop regretting that just like I’ll never stop loving you. I’ll live a thousand thousand lives before I let go of this weight on my soul, but for you, it’s worth it. For you, anything and everything is worth it. 

I love you, Bravora, more than I could ever hope to describe. I just hope that wherever you are, you know how much I love you. But who knows, maybe we’ll meet again in the next life. That would be nice. That would be very nice indeed.

It seems I’ve either spent my hour or I didn’t have as long as I thought, because I hear door opening. I guess this is it. So, to whoever finds this, thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for getting to know me. Thank you for—I don’t know—not just tossing this old book like most people would. Thank you.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Executed on 21st Day of Last Seed, 5E 331_


	13. Act II, Part I: Beyond Death

**Act II, Part I: Beyond Death**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Lost Soul_

Everything seemed to happen so fast when the floor fell beneath my feet and I fell with it. I didn’t even hear the snap of my neck before everything went dark. It was like suddenly fainting. There were no dreams, no noise, no feelings—just an emptiness to it all. A peaceful emptiness, but still an emptiness that I can’t quite describe. It was like being asleep but deeper than any sleep I’ve ever had or deeper than I ever thought possibly. It was as though I just—ceased to be. One moment, I existed and in the next, I just—didn’t. I didn’t exist anymore and I don’t know how long I didn’t exist or even where I am, but somehow, I exist again. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I am here and I don’t really know how I feel about it. I had made my peace with non-existence before I was marched to the Gallows and I feel almost denied that peace, but I suppose it doesn’t matter; I am here once more and I suppose I must still have some part to play in the grand scheme of things. I just don’t know what.

When I did awaken from my slumber of non-existence, it was not in New Balmora or anywhere I had ever been and that was apparent as soon as I opened my eyes. I was in a cave of some sort and it was dark, damp, cold—everything one would think of when thinking of a cave, but something was different about it. When I cupped my hands to drink of the water my head had been resting in, it turned to dust as I brought it to lips and when I dunked my mouth in, I choked on the dust I tried to drink and I felt the cave shake with a deep, rumbling laughter at me and everything in it joined in. The plethora of different fungi growing in the crevices, the rats that weren’t quite rats but something else—something twisted, and even the pool of dust all joined in on laughing at me. Whatever this place was, it was not something I had ever seen before—not something I ever wanted to see either.

It took me some time to crawl out from the cave, but I did. It shifted and readjusted with my every movement, whether in some goal of keeping me inside or because I made it uncomfortable with my constant moving, I don’t know, but I did get out and it was when I gazed the world before me that I found myself wishing for a return to the peaceful emptiness I had been pulled away from. There was no ground to speak of, just islands floating through the air constantly battering into one another as a result of the raging storms throwing aside everything in their way. Some of these islands were bigger than others and on most of all them were fortresses, but one in particular stood out—the one sitting in the center of the storm. It was the largest by far in both the size of the island of the fortress on top of it. 

I did see a fortress on the island I’m on though and maybe I can find answers in there and something to drink. Hopefully anyways. I just hope I can make it there without being noticed by those creatures in the sky; I can only make out their silhouette through all the ash and dust, but I’ve got nothing to defend myself if they come for me. Here’s to hoping I can make it to the Fortress before they see me. 

_-Antuul Dralosi, Lost Soul_


	14. Act II, Part II: The Guide

**Act II, Part II: The Guide**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Lost Soul_

I once again find myself waking up with my head in the pool of water that turns to dust, but this death was a different death. I didn’t make it to the Fortress, but I got close. It wasn’t the storm that got me even though I felt the grit inside of it ripping my exposed flesh; it was those things above. I only saw it for a moment before everything went black again, but it was a massive creature like those old stories about dragons, but it wasn’t a dragon—it was something else. Whatever it was, it was faster than anything I’d ever seen and bigger as well. I’m not even angry about it getting me, I’m just irritated that I was so close to getting something to drink and here I am again in this damned cave. This cave that mocks me with every pool of water that turns to dust when I try to dust. I’m so thirsty. I just want something to drink, but that fortress is my best bet of finding something—there has to be at least one bottle of Quab in there somewhere, there just has to be.

The storm is starting to calm as much as I think it will, but there’s something out there and it’s waiting for me. I can hear its talons clicking against the hard stone ground out there as it paces back and forth. I need a weapon or really anything I can use to defend myself. Maybe there’s a rock? A stick? Something? 

Nope. Nothing, there’s nothing in this damn cave I can use to protect myself, so I guess I’ll grab a handful of dust and hope that I can blind whatever it is out there. That’ll be my best chance. I’ll be back shortly, either because I killed it or because I’m waking up in that damn pool again. Here’s to hoping I kill it; I’m not dying again, at least not until I get something to drink. 

* * *

I’m not dead, but that thing—that woman—or whatever it was—it just left me more confused than I was before. I’ve never seen anything like it—or her—or whatever I should call it. She was this woman with these bat wings instead of arms and a long, scorpion-esque tail. I can’t really describe it, but it doesn’t matter what she looked like. She told me she was sent to talk to me, to guide me, I guess. She called herself Ustavia and told me that if and only if I learned to see through the Geometries of Oblivion could I truly begin the long road to the next life, but I don’t understand. I can’t understand. See through the Geometries of Oblivion? I’m not some mage or something; the only reason I can even read is because Bravora taught me when we were kids and now I’m suddenly supposed to know how to identify some spatial relationships about things I don’t understand? It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be right. This isn’t what was supposed to happen after I died; I was supposed to stay in that Emptiness I think, but something pulled me out of it and I don’t know why. What reason could some god or daedra or whatever you want to call it have to keep me around after I died? I just don’t get it and now I’m supposed to see through some hidden layers to a place I didn’t even know existed until what feels like a few hours ago? It just doesn’t make sense.

Nothing here makes sense, but I’m trapped here. I’m trapped in this hell and I don’t know how to get out unless I somehow learn Planar Geometry or something like that, but I don’t know how the hell I’m going to pull that off in this cave. You know what? Forget it. That thing—Ustavia—she doesn’t know me. The storm’s dying down enough that maybe I can actually reach the Fortress this time. I’m going to go for it. I’ll write more once I get there.

* * *

Once again, I found myself waking up in the pool of water-dust, but this time I was not alone. Ustavia was sitting across from me with a disapproving frown across her indigo lips. She said nothing as I composed myself after the shock of yet again having been devoured by those things in the sky, but still, I could feel her annoyed judgment on me just as I felt the Council’s judgment in those chambers. She wasn’t amused that I had tried to make a run for it again and that much was obvious, but it still didn’t explain why she cared so much. I did ask her though and she gave me a curt response that raised more questions than it answered: “Because Master Dralosi, the Lady has need of you.” I inquired further, but she would answer no more on the topic. 

We sat together in silence for a few minutes. A part of me enjoyed having the company of another person or daedra or whatever it is she is, even if just for a few minutes, but she told me that this would last time we spoke until I chose to see. I don’t know what she expects me to see, but she told me that it will be in this cave that I find the Fortress and in the Fortress that my journey will truly begin. I don’t know what she expects me to find in this cave. It’s not very deep. There’s not a lot I think I can really discern from it to be honest, but she says that the first step lies in balancing what is within and what is without. I just wish I knew what that meant, but she seemed confident that I would figure it out—eventually.

So, I guess now is a good time to start. I’m going to think about this, maybe try that meditation thing that Shakes used to talk about. Who knows, maybe that’s what I need right now. Maybe I just need to clear my mind and trust that things will work out. Maybe.

I’ll write more later, but for now, I need to think. I have a lot to think about.

_-Antuul Dralosi, Lost Soul _


	15. Act II, Part III: Broken Hope

**Act II, Part III: Broken Hope**

_By Antuul Dralosi, Lost Soul_

The only thing I really know anymore is this cave. I don’t know how many times I’ve died in this place and woken up with my head in that pool again, but I know every time I do, she’s watching me with that same disapproving glare. She thinks I’m stupid—I don’t care though. She’s not my master. She’s my ‘guide’ whatever that even means, but it doesn’t matter, because I’ve given up. I’ve finally just accepted it: this cave—this cave is my life now. And you know, that’s okay I suppose—I’m just so thirsty. I just want something to drink, but every time I make a run for that fortress, I end up back here. I’m so tired of trying. I’m so, so, so tired of trying. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to die over and over and over with no release. It’s hell. It’s a state of pure hell to know that I’ll just keep ending up in this god-forsaken cave, because that fortress, it’s a trap. It’s not real, it’s just something to keep luring me out from this cave, but this cave is safe. I don’t die in this cave. Nope. I’m safe here. Those things in the sky can’t get me in here.

It’s funny though how my life has gone. I spent my life doing whatever it took to survive and I dreamed about having my own little space—a nice little cave of my own as you will—and here I have it—and here I hate it. I just want to get out of here. I don’t care what happens once I get out of here, I just want it to stop. I. Just. Want. It. To. Stop. But it won’t. There’s no end to this. It’s just a constant endless torment. At least when I was alive or whatever I knew as alive, I got to sleep. Now? There is no sleep. There’s just rocking back and forth here in the darkness of my cave with nothing to do and nowhere to be; I just wish I could get to that fortress. Oh I wish I could. But I can’t, because I was never meant to. It’s just a sick joke. How many times will he run for it? I can almost hear them joking about it behind my back and I don’t even know who them is, but I know they’re doing it. I know this is just some kind of game and I’m just some little pawn being forced to play in a game that doesn’t make sense. It’s comical. Hahaha, you bastards, now let me out. Let me the hell out of this sick game of yours.

It doesn’t matter though. They can all laugh at me all they want; I don’t need them, I never needed them. I never needed anyone. I always got by on my own and if they want to laugh at me here then to hell with them, because I don’t need them. You hear me, you bastards?! Do you?! I don’t need you! I never needed anyone and I sure as hell don’t need you! I hope you hear me! You’re all noth—

* * *

The cave shook and rocks fell. I think I died again because something hit my head, something heavy and then everything went black, but I didn’t wake up like no time had passed at all this time. Maybe I was just unconscious, I don’t know, but the mouth of the cave is gone and there’s caverns now that weren’t there before. I’m going down and hopefully I find something.

* * *

By Azura, I have been blessed. There’s water down here, it’s gritty with silt but it might very well be the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. It’s so good to have something to drink. I drank until I was on the burst of vomiting, but I still wanted to go back for more—you never appreciate water until you don’t have it. 

Ustavia was perched on a ledge above me and watching me drink to my heart’s content when she startled me. “You have balanced what is within and without, Master Dralosi,” she said flatly. “Enjoy this respite, for it is now that the true tests of this place begin.” I tried to stop her before she vanished into the shadows, but I couldn’t and I honestly don’t think she could’ve saved me from what was coming anyways. 

There was the loud clank of metal scraping against metal and the metallic thud as sabatons hit the cold stone floor. I hid a bit towards where I started and waited for whatever these things were to show themselves and they did. They were hulking green humanoids covered in armor and carrying axes. They looked kind of like goblins but bigger and stronger and I swear I have heard of these creatures before. Orcs, I think they were known as. I had never seen one before because as far as I knew, none of them escaped during the Landfall like we and the Khajiits did, but here they were. I wondered for a minute if they were trapped here too and had just formed some kind of gang to keep safe from other prisoners in this hell, but I stopped wondering as they closed in on me.

Now I’m sitting here where the mouth of the cave was and I can hear them talking in the caverns not far from me. I couldn’t make out much of it though because they spoke a heavily-accented old dialect. All I know is I’m sitting here waiting with a rock in my hand for the one they call Gro-Shara to come for me. I’m not waking up in that goddamned pool of water-dust again. Not a chance, so if Gro-Shara finds me, I’m going to kill him and I’m going to get out of here. I’m not going to risk this cave resetting or however the hell this place works. You hear me, you sick bastards? I’m going to get out of here. I mean it. I will beat this!

Here he comes. I hear his footsteps and his loud breathing. It’s uneven. He’s out of shape. If I get the jump on him then maybe I can—


End file.
